


A Journey North

by rei_c



Series: Mashups and Crossovers [17]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, I Don't Even Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: Edmund and Lucy are leading a group of Narnians north, both to satisfy Lucy's sense of adventure and Edmund's need to map their land. Far from home, a storm moves in.It brings with it an unexpected encounter.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Lucy Pevensie
Series: Mashups and Crossovers [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1489115
Comments: 12
Kudos: 90





	A Journey North

Edmund looks up from the map and around the table. Lucy's got that gleam in her eyes again, the one that means she's not going to be dissuaded from going ahead. Oreius looks torn, as do the other leaders of their military retinue. Vinti, their head of supplies, has her mouth pursed, and Blackwing, the head scout, has his beak closed tightly. 

"Oreius?" Edmund asks. 

"Another week," the Centaur says, slowly. "We'll have to turn back, then. But I say we continue. For now." 

Edmund doesn't bother asking Lucy, who would no doubt vote for mapping out every edge of Narnia possible, no matter how long it takes. If there's anyone who has adventuring in her blood more than Lucy, it would have to be a Mouse, but even Mice sometimes fade in comparison. 

"Blackwing?" he asks. "The weather's gotten cold, I know. Is it too much to ask to scout north a few more days?" 

The Raven tilts his head, clicks his beak twice in thought. "We can manage a few more days, majesty," the Raven says. "Though we won't be airborne for more than -- two, maybe three hours a day. If we broke that up into twenty minute flights every few hours, we could manage. Would that serve, General Oreius?" 

The Centaur looks down at the map, eyes flicking once to Edmund, once to Lucy. "A flight just after dawn, one mid-morning, one at lunch, one mid-afternoon, one before nightfall. As long as we have five a day, I say it's good. Majesties?" 

Lucy volunteers to check with the Gryphons -- they're the only ones that can fly for any length of time in this cold and wind -- so Edmund looks at Vinti. The Beaver wrinkles her nose. "It'll be close, majesties. We can resupply on our way back south. And at least we don't have to worry about water." 

Not with all the snow around. 

Edmund's still not sure what could possibly live this far north, above the marshes and the giants and deep into the cold that reminds him of nothing so much as the White Witch's castle. Still, there's something to be said for knowing their lands -- something to be said, too, for seeing the joy of new discoveries in Lucy's eyes with every mountain they climb or river they ford. 

"We'll give it four days," Edmund decides. "Then reevaluate. Vinti, let's cut rations down to about 90 percent. Lucy and Blackwing, check in with the Gryphons and see if they can do one more run tonight before we all tuck in. Oreius --," he pauses there, looks at Lucy, who's turned pleading eyes on him. Edmund sighs, ignores the way Blackwing huffs and Vinti smothers a snort, finishes, "--let's see if any of the Horses are willing to take Lucy and me forward tomorrow." 

Oreius hates it when they ride; Lucy always ends up galloping in front of their brigade and Edmund invariably follows her, leaving their security far behind -- all except for Oreius and his squad of Horses and Centaurs and Dogs, who struggle to keep up with them. No one knows how it happens every single time, except that Lucy can talk anyone into doing anything, and Edmund -- well. He's not immune to his sister's tongue either. Probably the least immune among them, actually. 

The planning meeting breaks up and Edmund lets out a deep breath when he's alone in the tent. Sometimes he longs for Peter -- not that Peter would know any more about their location or circumstance than Edmund, but Peter's _steady_ and command suits him, suits the patience Peter has, like he's one of those rocks he's named for, steady and patient and always, _always_ certain of what he's doing. 

The last time Edmund was certain of anything, he betrayed his brother and sisters. He's here only by the grace of the Lion -- that and Lucy's cordial. 

"Stop thinking whatever it is you're thinking," Lucy says, as she comes swanning back into the tent. Her hair gleams in the lantern-light. "You already cut the plans down to four days rather than the seven even Oreius thinks we can handle. And we'll turn around if you wake up tomorrow and tell us our trip is over." She comes close, squirms between Edmund and the table to look down at the map. Edmund wraps his arms around her, rests his chin on her shoulder. "I think we can make it here by nightfall tomorrow," Lucy says, moving just enough to point at the narrow valley between two mountains that their scouts have mapped out just north of them. "We'll camp outside of the valley, send out a few of the Dogs to see if they can catch any hint of a scent that _isn't_ snow." 

It's the same plan Edmund had in the back of his mind; it's always a relief to know that he and Lucy are on the same page. There's no safer place in Narnia than being of one mind with Lucy. 

"The Gryphons?" Edmund asks. 

"Ready to go as soon as dawn breaks," Lucy says. "The Falcons have already gone out for a reconnaissance flight before we all turn in. They'll let us know if they see anything suspicious." 

Edmund makes a noise of understanding, then unwinds himself from around Lucy. "Right, then," he says. "Let's get some food and sleep. It'll be a long day tomorrow." 

Lucy laughs. The light around her shivers at the noise. Edmund shivers as well. The wind, outside, howls. 

\--

They break camp shortly after dawn. The Gryphons have done a quick flight and report that there's nothing in their path except more snow, clouds on the horizon that might presage a storm. Edmund's watching the sky above as he rides one of the Horses, the two of them chatting idly. 

As the day passes, the bright blue above them starts to grow deeper and darker and the wind picks up, screaming where it comes rushing through the mountains. The pace of their caravan has dropped significantly; Edmund's torn between ordering a full retreat and stopping to make camp early, digging in and getting ready for whatever storm or blizzard is moving in on them. 

Lucy's been running around on her crudely-made snowshoes all day, cheeks growing more and more flushed as the hours pass, but even she's sticking close to the vanguard now, a frown crossing her expression every so often, tilting her chin up as if she's scenting the wind like one of the Dogs. 

When she does it for the fifth time in as many minutes, Edmund finally asks, "What is it?" 

Lucy looks at him, distracted, as the wind curves around her cheeks, lifting strands of her hair in the breeze. Her eyes glitter in the light. "There's -- something, I think. Coming our way. Something more than the storm." 

"Dangerous, your majesty?" Oreius asks, already signaling to the soldiers under his command to circle them, be on alert. Edmund gives Blackwing a look, eyes the sky and tilts his head; within two minutes, a pair of Gryphons and two of the Falcons take to the sky. 

"I don't -- no, I don't think so," Lucy says. "It's more like -- it's a good thing. I think." 

Edmund and Oreius exchange glances. Lucy doesn't sound too certain but she doesn't sound _worried_ ; while her bravery and courage have often been more than Edmund's heart can bear, she's never put others in harm's way. Herself, yes -- others, no. 

It's not long before their flight squadron has regrouped in front of them. "Nothing," Mistral says, ruffling her feathers and stalking back and forth in front of them. "Mountains and snow. Forgive me, majesty, but from what we can see, any possible threat would have to come from inside the rock or beneath our feet." 

Oreius purses his lips even as Edmund murmurs, "Underland." 

They've heard rumours of the great land beneath their own, rumours of vast seas and crystalline caverns and unknown creatures, but Edmund always put them down to fantasy. There's nothing about Underland in the library at Cair Paravel, nothing apart from unsubstantiated claims in some of the oldest books -- even then, only a line or two, as if children's stories. 

"Edmund?" Lusy asks, drawing his thoughts back to the present. 

He finds Lucy looking at him, waiting expectantly, and -- not for the first time -- his heart skips a beat at the complete expression of trust in her eyes. Her trust, after all he's done, is a precious thing that he would swallow down and carry in his chest if he could, protect it with all the ferocity he can summon and with his last dying breath. He doesn't deserve it. He never has. He will strive the rest of his life to earn it. 

"Oreius, the map, if you please," he says. The general pulls it out and Edmund gestures both him and Lucy close, then tilts his head in invitation for Mistral to join them. "We should make camp, both to wait out the storm and to prepare for whatever else is coming our way. Where's the best place?" 

Unsaid is his opinion that sheltering in the valley's entrance, as they'd hoped, would be foolish at this point. 

Oreius points to the western range of mountains, dragging his finger along the map. "Here," he says, tapping at a curve that the flight squad mapped out a few days ago. "Sheltered from the wind but far enough away from the rocks."

Edmund looks to Mistral, who shakes her head. "Here," she says, her claws gently scraping at the western end of the valley's wide opening. She's pointing a little farther south than Oreius had, a little closer to their current location. "Sheltered from the wind, as the general says, and away from the rocks, but there's an outcropping above that will also protect us from the snow." 

"It leaves us room to engage if we must," Oreius says, thoughtfully. "And a clear exit to both the valley and a retreat south. Mm. A sound plan." 

"How long will it take us to reach that point?" Edmund asks. 

Mistral glances upwards, appears as if she's doing some calculations in her head. Edmund meets Lucy's eyes, who's watching Mistral with an impish grin dancing about her lips. She's always enjoyed that most of the Narnians can do maths better than she can. 

"Two hours, give or take," Mistral finally says. 

"Let's go," Edmund says. 

\--

The wind picks up -- not enough to stop them but enough to slow them. It takes three hours to reach the point that Mistral suggested and Oreius agreed to, three hours of Lucy leading most of their caravan in song, the clear and ringing sound carried away, swirling, by the wind fighting their every step. Still, everyone is high spirits when they stop moving, laughing and talking as they start to break out the tents and the food, the lanterns and the firewood. 

It's why no one hears them coming, Edmund thinks to himself, in shock as a figure wearing bright red suddenly _appears_ out of nowhere. The figure stops on the edge of their camp, hands held up so as not to seem threatening, but the covering over their face and the large wolf -- Wolf? -- at their side does nothing to halt Edmund's instant reaction. He pushes Lucy behind him, takes out his sword, and whistles long and high for attention. Oreius, and several other of the Horses, Centaurs, and Dogs join him, line up to protect their camp. 

"Name yourself," Edmund demands. He hasn't seen a wolf since his time with the White Witch and now, eyes narrowed at this figure and the animal next to it, his heart skips a beat at the thought that they may have stumbled right into her former territory. His grip on his sword tightens as he _commands_ , "Show yourself." 

The person pushes back the coverings over their face and lowers their hood. "Peace and blessings," the -- man, it's a _man_ \-- says. "My name is Stiles, a Son of Adam, and my companion is Derek, a Son of Lycaon. We welcome you to our territory in the name of the Great Lion and offer you food and shelter as our honoured guests."

Lucy barrels her way past Edmund, stops halfway between them and says, breathlessly, "We accept."

**Author's Note:**

> (Inside of the mountain, where Stiles, Derek, and their pack live, the air rings with laughter and smells of warm fires and hot food. After they eat, Derek [a Werewolf, taciturn but gentle, alpha of this pack but helpless against Stiles the way that Edmund leads his caravan but caters to Lucy with every part of himself] leads them to springs kept warm by _dragonbreath_ and they bathe as Silverspire, ancient and wise and _vast_ , tells them stories of the Olde Times. 
> 
> ...Peter is going to be _furious_ he missed this.)


End file.
